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How bad were the Minneapolis auditions? Well, in the first 45 minutes, the only good singer was the only (admitted) crack baby. So there's that. How drunk was Paula? So drunk that we got the beer goggles for guest judge Jewel. Who was your recapper's favorite for tonight? Um...can I choose that awesome and often metaphorical audition room door that the producers locked specifically so people could plow into it and look stupid? That was my favorite.
On to Hollywood: Denise Jackson (16, Madison WI) is the aforementioned crack baby, and though she may dress like she's auditioning for Flavor of Love, she's actually all class and quite awesome. Sings pretty well too. Perla Meneses (25, Margate, FL) is allegedly Colombian and allegedly looks like Shakira and can allegedly sing, so she squeaks on by. Jarrod Fowler (27, Peoria AZ) is a Navy man and Rascal Flatts enthusiast who can sing fairly well and was likely emboldened by Taylor Hicks's trailblazing work in the field of middle-aged-looking white dudes trying to win over teenyboppers. Michelle Steingas (19, Excelsior MN) is blonde and cute and country, and she sings "Duh, I'm Blonde and Cute and Country (Of Course I'm Going To Hollywood)." Matt Sato (16, Maplewood MN) is an adorable kid with unsupportive parents and an unfortunate zit-on-the-nose situation, and I totally thought Simon was going to hate him for looking kinda girly, but he doesn't! He's going to Hollywood! Suck it, Mom and Step-Dad! Rachel Jenkins (21, Minnetonka MN) is an Army Reservist with a husband in Baghdad, a sparkling personality, and one of the better voices of the night. Sarah Krueger (19, Eau Claire WI) is dressed like a customer service rep and has hair like Felicity and sings "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" very much like Kat McPhee, if Kat McPhee never had a domineering mother whose approval was ever-elusive.
Back to St. Olaf: Jessica Rhode loves Jewel and thinks she can sing and is very, very sad to learn that she cannot. Troy Benham is a self-described "urban Amish," which translates roughly to "big, fat liar with a dirty beard." Charles "Monroe" Moody is dressed like Apollo Creed and specializes in opera and wasting everyone's time. Tashawn Moore is "dressed to impress" in a men's shirt and tie and is generally the most fantastic person on this entire show. She can't sing, nor can she remember any of the words to Prince's "Kiss," but she keeps snapping and shimmy-shaking and closing her eyes, picking out lyrics from the ether as she passes. She's utterly hysterical and cute and terrible, and it goes on forever and is totally worth it. Trista Giese "sounds like" the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz. I suspect she's secretly cool, and she found a way to get on TV, and for that I applaud her. Stephen Horst is a vocal coach who sings like musical theatre and earns Randy's ire, at Simon's childish goading. Dana Dooley cannot sing very well, unless she's singing "Fever" to her boss, Gary, who she is deeply in love with (though she may or may not know it) and who flew her and her sister out to Minnesota to audition. There is innuendo everywhere. Jason Anderson juggles with the devil sticks, sucks powerfully, is rejected harshly, and cries like an actual baby. Brenna Kyner has a "degree in vocal performance" and proceeds to stab "Under Pressure" to death with her voice, but she got on TV, on her BFF of a show, so she wins, ultimately. Finally, Josh Flom is cute and awesome and sings with a sub-sub-sub-Daughtry growl, and when Simon suddenly develops the opinion that you need to have some variety in your game, he gives him 15 minutes to cobble together an Abba song to show off his "range." He sings it like the star of Muriel and Chad Kroeger's Wedding, of course, and despite making an endearing case for himself, he's rejected and told to stick things out with his garage band. Nice kid, though.
up: Seattle. Which is supposed to be the bad one. Yikes. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Before we know where we're going, we must know where we've been, so American Idol Season 6 begins with a flashback to Taylor Hicks winning Season 5 and then having a seizure. Or because he kept having seizures. One of the two. Then, we go back even further, as Ryan Seacrest's voice-over reminds us -- and visual evidence supports -- that Idol has been responsible for turning Clay Aiken from a gawky Howdy Doody impersonator into a gay Tilda Swinton impersonator; for taking the natural talent of Ruben Studdard and...I guess putting it into a suit, if you go by the montage here; for rescuing Fantasia from a life on the streets and making her sing for her supper by dressing like Beyoncé and hawking her hard-luck story to basic cable. Kelly Clarkson's win seems even farther in the past than it usually does, and Seacrest desperately tries to get some of that "Since U Been Gone" Grammy dust on himself and the show. And, as you may have expected, he attempts the same thing with Jennifer Husdon's Dreamgirls future-Oscar dust. They're not even lying -- Idol IS ultimately the reason why we even know who Kelly and Jennifer are today. But it does serve to illustrate just how wide the chasm is between "Idol fame" and "real, actual fame." To wit, Ryan tells us about Carrie Underwood's mega-success this past year (real, actual fame), then transitions into how Kellie Pickler is a "household name" (Idol fame). Chris Daughtry's album is rocketing up the charts (real, actual fame, or at least the beginnings of it), while Katharine McPhee is wearing hooker clothes to the American Music Awards (Idol fame). Elliott Yamin is...oh, they didn't talk about Elliott. That'll cost 'em.
As the confetti of yestermonth gives way to the teeming throngs of slightly-more-recent yestermonth, Ryan promises this season will be the "biggest and best yet." The Who, from the background, counter that it's only teenage wasteland. We're promised the usual mix of exuberance and bitterness and boys crying and girls getting violent and personality disorders and mental handicaps and gimmicks and good singers we probably won't see until semi-finals, and then...this girl with a cowboy hat makes inhuman sounds with her mouth. Is she the American Idol? Ryan Seacrest sounds dubious.
Credits!
Then it's more flashbacks. Remember when Prince performed at the Idol finale last season? I sure don't! Was that while I was passed out from seeing Toni Braxton's vagina? Or while I was passed out from seeing Meatloaf have a panic attack onstage? Or while I was sleeping from the overall boringness? Then again, everyone was on that finale show, so why not Prince too? Anyway, "Prince," in this case, is shorthand for "Minnesota," which is where tonight's auditions are taking place. "The state of 10,000 Lakes," Seacrest reminds us, "and when we showed up there were 10,000 people." So in about a half hour, when we want to drown them all, we shouldn't have much difficulty, then? Good news.
During the "judges emerge from their limos" montage, we learn that "acclaimed pop star" Jewel will be joining them as a guest judge tonight. And, look, like everybody else who was a member of the Columbia House Compact Disc Club back in 1996, I owned Pieces of You. But I won't lie and say I wouldn't be making with the sarcastic quotation marks all over the damn place with Jewel if it weren't for the fact that she's pretty wonderful tonight. In fact, I'm working with her on a charity single to benefit overworked TWoP forum moderators to be titled "Who Will Save Your Soul Patrol?" (...I'm waiting for my rimshot...there it is.) And while we're on the subject of Jewel, our first auditioneer of the season just happens to be Jewel's biggest fan. Jessica Rhode works at the Mall of America as a make-up artist for what looks like a Glamour Shots-esque operation. In the hallways outside the audition room, Seacrest breaks it to her that her hero Jewel is a guest judge. So now this isn't just an Idol audition for Jessica, it's her own personal episode of Made. She's crying just talking about it, so you already know this can't go well.
Inside, we get our first glimpse of what she's wearing. And what she's wearing appears to be jeans with a flowy white curtain sewn onto them at about mid-thigh. She looks like one of those cars that's been in an accident and had to replace its driver-side door with a different-colored door from another car. She's very giggly and smiley and upfront about how she doesn't want to be Jewel, she's just inspired by her. She then proceeds to try to sing "You Were Meant For Me" in classic Jewel style, which means "with her voice going all over the map and sounding scary." Jewel gets this look on her face like, "I don't really sound like that, do I?" (Answer: kinda.) You can almost see how Jessica has deluded herself into thinking she's a good singer, and those are the ones I always feel bad for, because those are the ones who are gonna get hurt. Randy asks Jewel if Jessica sounded like her, but Jewel says she doesn't want to talk right now. The consensus is that Jessica sounded like Jessica, which translates to four "no" votes. "Are you kidding me?" Jessica asks, and she quickly resorts to begging. And crying. The judges keep trying to let her down relatively easy, which leads to Randy telling her there are other things in this world to be good at besides singing. "And the good news," says Simon, is that she's found out today that she's not going to become a singer, "so you can just move on." It sounds bitchy, but it's actually the nicest thing Simon will ever say to anyone. Jessica sadly gathers herself up to leave, walks up to the double doors, and opts for the one on the left, which is locked. "Other door," Simon says, flatly. Okay...
In Praise of "Other Door": Thank you, Jesus, Buddha, Goddess, and Xenu, for the sublime gloriousness of "other door." Thank you for the Idol producer who had the genius idea to lock one of the two audition room doors, ensuring a 50% chance of a deluded wannabe actually physically running up against a locked door. I will break the yolks and make the smiley face for you, dude. Thank you, Simon Cowell, for your note-perfect line reading of "other door," consistently deadpan each and every time. I'm so glad this is the theme this year, instead of "making fun of the genderly confused." Though I'm kind of knocking on wood that that doesn't resurface. Anyway, thank you, Other Door. Long may you refuse to budge.
Outside, Jennifer Rhode breaks down into big, heaping, sobby tears. Her awful family, who steadfastly refused to prepare her for the reality that she's not a good singer and would be eaten alive by a show like this, hug and comfort her and generally get to look like nice, supportive people instead of the lazy jackals they are. I mean, support and encourage your kids, absolutely, but you have to stop short of leading them to the slaughter. Manage their expectations, at the very least. Come on. I know Little Miss Sunshine taught us otherwise, but here's the thing: your kid is not as cute as Abigail Breslin and cannot pull off "Superfreak." Keep that one in mind, America, as we head to commercial.
Meet Troy Benham, who's dressed in a suit and tie, stupid hat, purple-tinted glasses, ratty mustache, and an even rattier beard. "The new style," he informs us, "is Urban Amish." I don't think he ever comes out and says he is Amish, though he does try and sell us a bill of goods, lying about how he doesn't own a TV and has never seen the show and couldn't pick Simon Cowell out of a police line-up and so forth. But his horse and buggy apparently has an AM/FM radio, because Google tells me the song he's singing was penned by one of those jokey drive-time radio low-rent Opie and Anthony knock-offs. So he's a big faker and (conjecture) probably an employee of that radio show and I'd try to research that one, but I truly don't care, so...?
A Carrie wannabe, a Kat McPhee wannabe, and a Constantine wannabe (with Bo hair, it should be pointed out) are all supposed to lead up to Jesse Holloway. Now, if this were a show that made sense, Jesse would be the ultimate wannabe, but he's...not. He just sucks. He says he can "hit some notes that Mariah Carey can't hit." Sorry, Jesse, "sobriety" and "classiness" aren't going to do you much good when you butcher "My Heart Will Go On" like you're doing. Jesse asks for a moment, steps out to get himself a glass of water, returns, and picks up right where he left off. Which is objectively funny, so now the judges are laughing at him. Paula is having some difficulty keeping her head up at this point, clearly suffering from the ill effects of Parkinson's. Parkinson's is a brand of gin, right? On the bright side, she's far less of an obstructionist in this state, so I say keep 'em coming, bartender. Jesse tries a Michael Jackson song , but come on. Jesse tries to blame it on his nerves. Jewel looks weirded out by all of this, but she does tell him that being a professional musician means being ready to "throw down" at a moment's notice. Simon says he's butchered three songs now, and as Jesse quietly starts some song that starts with "We..." Simon amends that to "four." Jesse starts to get mad, and is dismissed. ("...Other door.") Outside, he continues his ranting with the usual: Simon's disrespectful and not a singer (neither is Jesse, but...), Paula hasn't had a hit since Clive Davis was in short pants (sing it, Rhonetta!), and Randy...oh, this one's new -- Randy needs to "wipe off all the damn makeup he's got on his face." Hee. I'll give Jesse that one. His conclusion: "They all need to be fired." Dude, if they haven't fired Paula yet? After her milestone 3,000th drunken breakdown on a local newscast? Lotsa luck, pal.
After the commercials, Ryan welcomes us back to Minneapolis with assurances that, seeing as it's Idol's first time in the city, they're sure to have a "fresh batch of raw talent." Which, of course, means some goofball dressed up like Apollo Creed, complete with boxing gloves. The only bright side to this whole segment is James Brown's "Living in America" being played in the background. ["I cheered myself up by imagining Carl Weathers as a guest judge." -- Sars] "Simon, I'm coming for you," assures Apollo. "I've got a surprise for you when I get there." "A man in a robe just said that," Ryan bursts out, emerging from off-camera all "you rang?" because someone just said something about Simon that could be twisted into gay innuendo. He's the gay Beetlejuice, really. Inside, Apollo wants to make it clear that he's a walking metaphor for "knocking out the competition." Oh! Okay, then. He'd also like to dedicate this to his nieces and nephews in foster care. How about heading down to family court and metaphorically knocking out some of the bureaucracy in the foster system, maybe? No, he'd rather sing opera poorly. Paula raises her hand to politely ask if Apollo can sing something that "represents how you look." So, "Eye of the Tiger"? Jewel, a hundred times more articulate, funny, and pretty than Paula, says, "That song is kickin' your butt." Apollo asks if he should try again with the same song. "No!" they all say in unison, and you catch a brief moment of Jewel and Paula turning to each other all "jinx!" That was cute. Apollo's second attempt is cut off by Simon, who's unable to get past the costume, not that I can blame him. "No" votes across the board. ("...Other door.")
Ryan manages to segue from Apollo's failed "knockout" to the auditioneer, who's "a real fighter." Meet Denise Jackson, a sixteen-year-old student from Madison, who tells us that she was "born as a...crack baby, as they would call them." Here's what you have to know about Denise: she is dressed ridiculously. Skimpy mini-dress, flowy lace robe thingy, trashy boots, sunglasses, hair in a ratty ponytail. She's dressed for the Flavor of Love reunion special. Here's what you also have to know about Denise: she rocks. She says she was put in foster care, "rescued" by her grandmother, and is incredibly grateful for what she has. "Knowing that I was born that way, I thank God," she says. "Many people have disabilities because of [being a crack baby], but there's nothing wrong with me. I was actually born with a gift, you know? A wonderful gift. I can sing." She says this perfectly humbly and graciously. Now, I'm not saying that I wasn't sitting in a living room full of people who all shouted, in unison, "Crack baby! She's in!" Because we are cynical and awful, just like this show. That doesn't mean I don't recognize the awesome person she is or that I am not rooting for her completely.
Outside the audition room with Ryan, Denise jokes about taking off her shades and batting her beautiful eyes at the judges. She's fronting here, but I think she knows it. There's a moment, as she struts out in front of the judges, that you worry she'll take the front too far and turn herself into a joke, but then she giggles and calls it her "Beyoncé walk," and all is forgiven. The judges aren't quite sure about her -- and with the package she's presenting, with the clothes and the walk, how could you be? -- but she sings Jennifer Holliday's "And I Am Telling You" very well. It's hard to fall all over yourself about it, particularly in the year of Jennifer Hudson and the Dreamgirls movie, but it shows she has a strong voice. I'm not really feeling "Top 12" from her, but who knows what Hollywood can bring? Simon thinks she's great and likes her "attitude." So do I. She's "sailed on through to Hollywood," per Simon. Outside, Denise emerges with her golden ticket and her family/friends celebrate, including one dude -- who maybe was born with disabilities from being a crack baby -- who jumps into another, very much larger dude's arms. It's a banner day for crack babies on this show -- for once -- as we head into commercials.
When we return, Denise is still celebrating, talking adorably about how she'll be the first person in her family to make something of themselves. "...Halfway," she amends, in a shockingly rare bit of humility. She thanks Jesus, as well as the half-full room of auditioneers who applaud her. Ryan's voice-over, however, reminds us that "not everyone had cause to celebrate." Cut to a rather nonsensical "appeal" from the producers of American Idol, asking for your attention to a growing ailment among auditioneers. The condition is apparently called "forgetting the words to your audition song." This is all a way of leading up to the entrance of one Tashawn Moore. Check out Tashawn: she's got a round, smiley face, her hair is pulled back in very business-like braids, and she's wearing a button-down shirt with an electric lime tie that she keeps flopping over her shoulder so the judges can read her contestant number. So cute. Try not to think abut how she's twenty-seven and probably too old to be acting weird on TV, and she's even cuter. She presents herself like she's at a job fair, and cheerfully says of her outfit that the audition manifesto "says 'dress to impress,' and I think a tie would do just my justice." Oh my God, I love her. She'll be singing Prince's "Kiss" for her audition, or so she says. She starts off by getting stuck on the "women not girls rule my world" line for-EVER, closing her eyes, trying to remember how it actually goes. She'll kind of catch on for a second, then forget again, then close her eyes, then do a little shimmy-shake. When she does actually sing, it's in this low, rumbling tone. She remembers "Act your age and not your shoe size," and then she opts to "do the twirl" and struts in a circle with her arms out to the side like she's five and pretending to be an airplane. The judges, bless them, let her keep going, and she does, with lots of snapping and keeping the eyes closed. She gets a full head of steam into the chorus -- stopping and starting over when she forgets something -- until she's brings it down to the ground for a drum-roll and a "...Kiss." To the judges! Randy says no (Tashawn whispers, "Yes."), Jewel says no (Tashawn whispers, "Yes."), Paula says no (Tashawn whispers, "Yes."). Finally, Simon asks what that's all about, with the yeses. "I just like to hear it," she says. Love her! "I do apologize," she says, though the judges say there's no need. She trots out and runs full speed into the..."Other door."
Ryan tells us our contestant was prepared to "flirt her way" to Hollywood. Perla Meneses is pretty, with blonde curly hair, and she claims she's Colombian, so apparently she's the new Shakira. I will tell you right now, I am about 65/35 on the side of her being a big faker. The "flirting" with Ryan consists of asking him if he has a girlfriend (hee) and then asking him if he likes "Spanish girls" (see? "Spanish girls"? Are all Latin American girls "Spanish," Perla? Or should I say, Pearl?). Ryan says he does like "Spanish girls." To do what remains unsaid, but I'm sure the post-production guys must've had to be restrained by teams of wild horses from going all Blind Date with the funny captions. A pre-interviewing Perla makes a stab at Jewel-esque pathos, telling us she once had to live in her car, though she assures us it's "not a sob story, it's a survival story." The B-roll is all shots of Perla getting ready in the bathroom at the venue, which I thought was a for-sure red flag that she was going to be awful.
She enters the judging room and immediately cranks the Hispanic up to eleven. "Hey Jewel! How you dooooeeeeeeng?" Simon asks what she's doing there. "Well, See-mone," she begins. Siiiiigh. Fake. She looks like Natasha Bedingfield, if you take the curly hair away, so this whole Shakira thing is based on a curling iron and a lie. She sings Blondie's "Call Me" in irritating tones, like a 1940s seductress with Liza Minnelli's speech impediment. She obviously thinks she's very cute. When she's done, See-mone buries himself even deeper into my heart when he says, "Muchas grathias." Awesome. The judges clearly aren't sold, and they have her try out some Shakira, I think just for fun. Perla breaks into "Hips Don't Lie" and actually does a really good job with it, even knowing all the words, which I certainly didn't. So she's...a Shakira drag performer? I don't know. Randy speaks a whole lot of business about Perla being "unpredictable" and liable to jump out of her skin at any moment. Jewel calls her "in the middle" vocally. Paula slurs that she liked "Hips Don't Lie" better. Seriously, she's off her ass right now. Perla demurs that if she knew they'd react like this, she would've started off with "Hips Don't Lie," but she didn't want to be compared to Shakira. "No!" Simon mocks. He liked the Shakira song, but felt the Blondie song was too heavily accented. Simon's clearly never heard Shakira attempt "Love Is A Battlefield" in a duet with Mary J. Blige before, because THAT is heavily-accented. Anyway, Perla's on to Hollywood, where she can be cannon fodder for people with a real shot at winning this thing.
Ryan segues into a montage that tells us that a lot of dudes were getting rejected in Minny. One of them, unless I'm mistaken, was Anthony from last season's Hollywood round. Remember Anthony? Cute, overly processed, had to put up with a Brittenum in the group performances. Anyway, Anthony allows that maybe "year" it'll happen. Eh, maybe year you'll have found a job, Anthony. Ryan jokes that "what this competition needs is a real man." Enter Matt Volma, who is a country fan whose entire shtick is that he's boring. I know, it's scintillating. And he does his job really well, to the point where I'm going to just gloss over him, because really, this thing is two hours long, and I believe state labor law says I get to gloss over one audition per two hours of recapping. So: Matt's boring, says he has "pizzazz," and sings "Folsom Prison Blues" like a man on his way to prison. Jewel asks him if this is all a joke (it is), but he denies it. Four "no" votes is the bad news, but the good news is that he exited out the correct door.
Montage O' Awful Dudes continues for a bit until we're introduced to Jarrod Fowler, a Naval intelligence specialist stationed on the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan out of San Diego. It's a seaworthy ship, to be sure, but it can never seem to remember where it's going. It also ignores other, smaller ships when they get AIDS. Anyway, footage of the Reagan in action is accompanied by Kenny Loggins encouraging us to take a highway to the danger zone. Like, the real song, not a cheap-o knockoff, which is another example of Idol production values clearing the low bar set for it. The Commanding Officer of the Reagan explains that while his men work hard, he likes for them to be able to play hard as well, and we see that this entails a ship-wide "Reagan Idol" competition. And before you go thinking that this is the gayest thing the Navy's ever done -- and that's saying something -- you should really check out the somber monotone of the girl they got to host this thing. Yeesh, way to suck all the fun out of being at war, lady.
Inside, Jarrod sings "Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts, also known as "that song by that band your aunt likes." It's a pretty enough voice, all things considered. Though, as Randy notes, he was a little frilly with the pitch. Simon goes out on a limb and says people will like Jarrod. Paula sloshes all around about how that song has been all up Idol's ass ever since Rascal Flatts performed on the Season 4 finale. Jewel wants him to watch his "pitchiness," and Randy refrains from slugging her for taking his catchphrase. Anyway, Jarrod's on to Hollywood, and as he exits, you see he's clearly about to try to open the locked door, but they cut away to a shot of him emerging through the correct door into the hallway, so he avoids looking stupid. Pimping! Show-sponsored pimping! Start the phone chain! Anyway, Jarrod's towering frame hugs his various family members as he laughs his ass off that he actually pulled this off. Unfortunately, unless he made the Top 24, George Bush probably just sent his ass to Iraq. Way to ruin our moment, Mr. President.
Ryan Seacrest steps dangerously close to the Pun Generator as he describes the slim pickings of Minneapolis as the "Midwest turn[ing] into the Mid-worst." We should all take a minute and be thankful that Ryan Seacrest was born without a sense of shame. So, we should hope, was this unibrowed young lady who warbles "Fever" all over the place. This put Simon in a "bad mood," which brings us to Trista Giese, who is guaranteed to put him in a worse mood. Trista can "sing" like the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz. No fooling. Ryan tries to pretend like he's delighted as she repeatedly does that feline vibrato thing that the Lion did first and the illustrious Chewbacca perfected. Inside, she performs "If I Were King of the Forest" with as much scary Lion affectation as you could possibly muster. Randy is cracking up, Jewel is frozen in terror, Paula can't look (or is busy spiking her product-placed beverage), and Simon keeps staring at Trista like he's trying to categorize her into a phylum. "What am I supposed to say?" he asks her. Trista says that she's "unique," in a way that holds an unspoken "you have to give me that." Look, Trista's here to be goofy and get on TV, she knows that she's not in this to win this, so nobody's at risk. This is foolishness you can feel good about. (In other words: Don't email me, Rosie O'Donnell.) Simon pronounces it among the "strangest" auditions he's ever heard (which was the point, so: go Trista!), and the judges shoot her down. Trista asks if they want to keep her posterboard, but Simon and Randy both say no. Jewel busts out at this and says, "Oh God, you guys are cold." This whole day is kind of hurting Jewel's soul, and I feel her on that. Bye, Trista. ("...Other door.")
, Ryan's outside talking to the looming, lanky frame of Stephen Horst. Which means Stephen's, what, six-one, if he's towering over Ryan like that? I always have to recalibrate the universe whenever Ryan's around. If we're going by outward attractiveness, Stephen should be a good audition. He's also a vocal coach, which could end up being his hook. He's kind of dorky-aggressive with Ryan, and when he's inside, we suddenly see why. Because Stephen's a musical theatre guy. And I love musical theatre guys, but once I heard that voice coming out of his mouth, I knew he was toast, because Simon hates musical theatre guys. He's singing "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing," for starters, and he's singing it like Liv Tyler's right there in front of him instead of a cartoonishly horrified Randy Jackson. The high notes are scary and unnecessary, as are the bedroom eyes, but in general, it does seem like the judges are harsher than what's warranted when they're like, "Yeah, ." Stephen mentions that he used to work at Disney World, earning him a scoff from Randy, which Simon pounces on as "a bit rude." We've seen this one before: Simon pretending that Randy's gone beyond the pale and trying to instigate a fight. Randy actually gets all het up about it, nearly calling for a class-action lawsuit on behalf of all Stephen's former pupils. Why they couldn't have just said, "Your voice is too musical theatre for this kind of competition," I'll never know. Oh, look -- that's exactly what Jewel says (not that it isn't lost amid the drama), because she's the awesome one this week. Anyway, Simon throws in a lot of "You gonna take that?" to Stephen before it's all over with. Stephen gets the last laugh, however, and exits via the correct door. If by "last laugh," you mean "gets out of the room with his last scrap of dignity intact."
A "fresh-faced" Michelle Steingas will hopefully wash that unpleasant taste from our mouths. Which would be appropriate, seeing as she looks like she could be in a toothpaste commercial. Very blonde, very cute, very bubbly, very nineteen. She's also very country, evidenced by the Deana Carter song she sings. She's...not all that great, really. Jewel uses all the brain cells she's not currently using to think up bad poetry to surmise that Michelle likes country music. Nice scoop there, ace reporter. "I thought it was pretty good," Jewel continues, then turns to Randy: "Did you hate it?" Hee. Loved that. Oh! Here's where it is! Okay, so Michelle's going to Hollywood, she's blonde and cute and country, that was a given. That's not the interesting part right here. Because right now, Paula Abdul is straight-up asleep. Like my grandfather sitting in his chair, eyes closed, with his mouth open. I guess we can add narcolepsy to the list of fake diseases Paula doesn't have which somehow explain her drunk-ass behavior. Asleep! Unfortunately, she's awake a few seconds later, but thanks to Couch Baron, I caught it. All that Veronica Mars sleuthing must be rubbing off on him.
Michelle emerges with her golden ticket and does a little happy dance. She tells the cameras that she "so stoked" for this opportunity and then sing-songs, "I can quit my jooooob!" She's cute. This is as good a segue as any into our Montage O' Dumbasses Who Quit Their Jobs and Got Rejected. Note that Michelle waited until after she made it to Hollywood to quit her job. Country don't mean stupid. But still, some dork in a hippie cowboy hat (if you can somehow wrestle your brain into picturing that), an Eva Mendes look-alike, someone who looks like that sweaty guy from the Coolio "Gangsta's Paradise" video, and a handful of others all claim they lost their jobs so they could audition for Idol. Geniuses. This leads us to Dana Dooley, 27, who didn't lose her job, because her boss was nice enough to fly her out to Minnesota, from California, on his dime. Dana doesn't seem crazy, but she tells us she auditioned in Pasadena and got rejected, so she's at least pretty delusional. Anyway, her boss listens to her sing around the office and thinks she's really good, and since he and his wife (hmm...) were flying out to Minnesota for a wedding anyway, they figured they'd fly Dana and her sister out with them so she could audition. Sketchy! Salacious! 1960s sexy secretary stereotype-rageous! Dana really doesn't seem sketchy at all, though, so it's harder to take this innuendo-mongering seriously. She even has Boss Man and Wife stand up and be acknowledged for the cameras. I don't know, maybe I'm losing my mojo and can't cast adulterous aspersions on other people like I used to. Could it be we were all so simple then?
Anyway, Dana enters the audition chamber with a very short dress that shows a lot of leg. This kind of comes into play later, or else I wouldn't mention it. The judges, as always, have been pre-briefed, and so Paula slurs, "Why did your boss fly you out to this audition?" "He thinks I'm special," Dana cutes. Simon immediately picks up on a potential hook and is like, "I'm sure he does." And then it becomes one of those seventh-grade double entendre festivals where everything you say gets interpreted dirty. Particularly when you open with "I'm his secretary." "Ran out of rooms," Simon play-acts, "so we all gotta share!" Jewel is once again the voice of reason, chiding Simon and Randy with a "You guys!" It's actually kind of funny. So Dana sings Chaka Khan's "Tell Me Something Good," and is really, really awful. Just utterly tone-deaf. But again, you could see how this person and her network of friends could fool themselves into thinking she's good, particularly when she lets out a Mariah-esque squeal. But really, she's crap. Simon and Randy conclude that Minnesota is "rubbing off" on Dana, and not in a good way. Except...presumably she sucked in Pasadena too, right? Jewel says she was pulling for Dana, but... Dana wants to know what was wrong, and Randy sums it up by saying it was "all outta tune, not one note, not even the melody...that song doesn't even go like that." Word salad aside: true. Simon asks Dana to bring her boss, Gary, into the room. This should go well. They're both subjected to some fairly embarrassing "Seriously, are y'all fucking?" innuendo, which is pretty objectionable, until they ask Dana to sing like she sings around the office. thing we know, Dana is singing "Fever" to Gary, she staring longingly into his eyes, he trying valiantly not to run his eyes up her legs, and both generally making everyone feel like we're in the middle of a movie where Mrs. Gary's gonna end up on her front stoop with a gunshot wound to her face. Unfortunately, I'm about 90% sure the show producers instructed Gary and Dana to turn and face each other, which kind of kills the moment, for me. Even though Dana really is doing something with her eyes here. They're dismissed -- nice people, I think; hopefully no one ends up in a coma or run over with a car -- and the judges gossip some more. "I think she is in love with him," Simon says, almost interested in the lives of other people. That's a first.
Ryan introduces us to Matt Sato, 16, whom Ryan describes as "thoughtful." Every time I see Matt on screen, I say, "Ohhh!" like when you see a kitten, or George O'Malley. He's teeny short, dressed in a sharp little black button-down, unflinchingly polite, soft-spoken, and his angelic little face is only marred by what appear to be waxed eyebrows (leave 'em alone, kid) and an unfortunate and hugely prominent blemish on the tip of his nose. But he's straight-up adorable and I love him. And no, I'm not going to speculate on the obvious, because...why speculate, really? He's in show choir. He knows who he is. Anyway, Matt's mom and stepdad aren't here because they've stopped officially supporting his music career because it's been costing them too much money. And knowing absolutely nothing about their financial situation or just how much money has been spent on Matt's quest to capitalize on his talent, I feel entirely justified in calling them jerks. Jerks! How do you say no to that face, blemish or no blemish? Inside with the judges, he sings "California Dreamin'" and sounds just lovely. I'm intensely fearing that Simon will say something mean to him, because you know how much Simon hates the girly boys, but he's either had a change of heart between seasons or he sees something marketable in Matt (bet on the latter...heavily), because he says Matt's "got something." Yeah, a skin condition (shut up, you!). He also says Matt's got a mature voice, for his age. Jewel says she was pleasantly surprised, and Randy advises him to "let it go" more time. Matt smiles big and allows that he's "a little nervous." The judges all say yes, and Matt manages to make it out of the audition room, into the hallway, and halfway through his phone call to his mother before he breaks down crying. He covers his face with his golden ticket as he does so, which killed me dead, partly because that is precisely the kind of thing I'd do. I don't want none of you looking at my ugly crying face -- who am I, Claire Danes? "She's proud of me," he husks, before balling up into a yoga position known as Crouching Drama Dork, and y'all can shut up at any time because he is fantastic and my favorite.
After the commercials, we're meet a fatigues-clad young woman named Rachel Jenkins, 21, from Minnetonka, MN. Before she gets to why she's dressed up for battle, Rachel first explains to us that she works in her parents' auto body shop. We see footage of Rachel at the auto shop, doing automotive things of some kind or another that I'm not at all qualified to explain to you. She's wielding a...buffer? She's on one of those roller-carts that let you slide underneath the car -- the kind that really should have gotten Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock killed in Speed. She uses a socket wrench. That's about the extent of my expertise on the subject. Rachel, after ten whole seconds of seeing her on the air, seems really cool and grounded. She says she signed up with the Army Reserve after 9/11 because she wanted to do something for her country and that was the best way she knew how. I think about this impulse servicemen and -women have to do right by their country, and it kind of boils me up even further to think that the people in charge don't share it. Anyway. Her husband, Daniel, is currently stationed in Baghdad, Eye-rack, and photographic evidence tells us they make an awfully cute couple. She worries about him very much, but she "know[s] he's a good sergeant" and she has to believe he'll be okay. When you sit down to type it all out like this, it sounds depressing as hell, but Rachel's not a depressing person to be around, I don't imagine, so seeing her on TV makes it a whole different experience.
Inside, Rachel is amazed to find that the judges are "so cute." ["I loved that. She's a sweetheart." -- Sars] They make her run down her vitals once again: 21, Army reservist, husband in Eye-rack. She's got a photo of Daniel in a wallet-sized sleeve that she wears around her neck, like a backstage pass made of love and sadness. She's very rambly, which leads to slightly uncomfortable moments like Randy cutting her off in the middle of talking about how excited Daniel is for her to ask what she's going to sing. She sings "His Eye Is On The Sparrow," which is a gospel song, I gather, and one that's been covered by, among others, Mahalia Jackson, Lauryn Hill, Barbara Mandrell, and Jessica Simpson. That's going to be one awkward table at the AllMusicGuide Christmas party. Rachel's voice is very pretty, and while not really power-house, it's more powerful than you'd expect coming from her. I'm not sure about her. I thought she was the best voice we heard tonight, up there with Denise, but I'm not sure we're going to see anyone from Minneapolis make it to the semi-finals. There's a cute moment when she stops singing and Randy's like, "Uh, you just stopped," and Rachel says that's the point at which "they" (the pre-screeners, I'd assume) usually tell her to stop. Heh. Good little soldier. The consensus from the judges is that she started off well but got inconsistent at the end there. Jewel, as she's been all night, is not only kinder than Paula, but more musically astute than Randy (or at least able to communicate that astuteness using a variety of word combinations that sound precise rather than vague and catchphrasey), explaining that Rachel's voice has a "pretty quality" but she "started floating between keys" at the end. She doesn't come close to out-Simoning Simon, but she doesn't need to right now, because Simon sees the deep reservoirs of likeability in Rachel and wants to see her in Hollywood. So say they all. Rachel is so excited that she breaks ranks and gives each judge a warm handshake. Like Colin Farrell in Tigerland, this one. She enthuses to Simon that she "just loves" him, loves his personality. "You have to go through boot camp to like Simon's personality," chirps Jewel, completely unprompted, words unmangled. Score one for Jewel! Hell, score a couple for Jewel. She's on fire tonight.
Outside, Rachel celebrates with her gaggle of supporters, who are either studly-looking dudes or ladies in deep need of advanced hair care. Off in her own private interview, Rachel enthusiastically smooches her husband's photo and tells "him" she made it. She smiles to us before switching gears and deadpanning how the photo never seems to talk back to her. Seeing as a good portion of tonight's auditioneers wouldn't be able to say the same about the inanimate objects they keep around them, I'd say Rachel is well ahead of the curve. More smooches and more cuteness, and I'm really hoping Hollywood treats her right.
into the audition room is Sarah Krueger, who is dressed for a job interview, in her smart little gray skirt with the oddly-placed slit. Once again, the "dress to impress" directive is interpreted too literally. Sarah's got gorgeous Felicity hair and is from Wisc-ahhhhn-sin (oh, flat "a," my familiar friend). Also, she's apparently only dealing with Paula right now, even though the way they keep cutting to tight shots of Paula without any of the other judges in the frame makes me wonder if she hadn't passed out again, so they made her film some pickups last week on the backlot during the fifteen-minute window each morning when the Beefeater and the oxycodone are in perfect balance and she's able to sit up under her own power. Anyway, backlot Paula instructs Sarah to proceed with her audition song, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Sarah sings quite beautifully, though the comparisons to Katharine McPhee are almost unavoidable. Fewer bells and whistles than Katharine, to be sure, but Kat always had a bucket-load of intangibles that no one else was playing with. The cleanness of Sarah's voice is as suited to her as Kat's focus-pulling melisma was to her. Simon compliments her "control," which is entirely correct. He says she looks great, though he doesn't comment on the receptionist-at-M.Y.W. wardrobe. Then again, he usually saves that for the later rounds, when he's not PTSD-ing about Apollo Creed and the Cowardly Lion girl. Jewel seems to be finding a lot more personality in Sarah than I am (maybe it's the Felicity hair? It's been known to have an appeal entirely divorced from the woman underneath it) and passes her on to Hollywood. As do the rest, and like all the other golden-ticket holders, Sarah emerges from the correct door with her dignity intact.
After the commercials (can Trading Spouses just air the episode with the damn crazy Jesus lady already so I can stop seeing the promos for it? See also: Til Death. I love a Margaret Cho guest appearance, but not that much), the sun is setting in Minneapolis, which means we're about due one more trainwreck before we put this baby to bed. Speaking of babies that need to be put to bed: meet Jason Anderson. He's actually introduced in tandem with Brenna Kyner, though I don't think they came to audition together. They're just kind of sitting to each other because everybody else has already left. Brenna is a huge fan of American Idol and wants to get herself on TV. Her exact words are, "It is my dream to be on American Idol, and now I'm living my dream, and now I can, you know, scratch that off the list of things to do before I die." You know, aside from the fucked-up priorities in your life where being on this show is your life's dream, that's pretty much the best attitude we'll see out of any auditioneer tonight. Brenna, I predict, will not get her heart broken by this show, and that's fine by me. For the time being, she's Bubba Gumping it about how she watches "Canadian Idol, Australian Idol, Azerbaijani Idol, The Federated States of Micronesian Idol..." Brenna -- did I mention? -- is a fan. She and Ryan chat a bit about how, since she's the show's biggest fan, logically she should win the show. Ryan asks if a "relatively good voice" plays into it, and she's all, "Duh. Obviously I'm an awesome singer." Not at all serious. Being in on the joke, like Brenna is, makes all the difference.
Back to Jason now. Jason's sixteen, which kind of makes me feel bad for what's about to happen, but he's not of diminished capacity. He's just kind of delusional. Kind of really delusional. He's juggling with what we called devil sticks -- where you hold the two rubberized batons and use them to bat a third, fringe-clad baton around in the air to the delight and amazement of everyone in your eighth-grade class who isn't off with the cool kids playing hacky-sack. Because he's sixteen, Jason always sounds vaguely pissed off, even when he's not, which is going to play into a whole lot of...hey, why don't I quit prefacing and just tell you how it goes? Jason brings the devil sticks into the audition and juggles with them as he sings, poorly. He either thinks he can sing and is deeply deluded about his talent level, or else he wants to be on TV in a less-healthy-than-Brenna way, and he knows his moment isn't inside the audition room, but outside, once he's done. I can't quite pin down which it is, because it seems like it's both. The judges are totally over it, and between the props and the sixteen-year-old perma-scowl, Simon's in the mood to be blunt about it: "Useless at everything. I mean, even the juggling was pathetic." Jason cops an attitude like, "Um, actually, I'm a really awesome juggler," in a way that starts out punk-ish and ends up kind of vulnerable. He's either a very transparent professional actor, or else a really transparent...sixteen-year-old boy. Anyway, he juggles, and Randy and Jewel -- as well as Paula, who is beyond wasted at this point, I don't even know what else to say about it -- go for an ill-advised America's Got Talent joke that's supposed to be at Simon's expense but, as is always the case, ends up mocking the kid even more. Instead of putting him out of his misery, they let Jason dig his own grave by attempting to dance for them. Finally, Simon has to tell flatly him that he's not in any way a singer, and he's dismissed.
Out in the hallway, the real story begins. Seacrest is waiting outside the doors with the family, asking if a golden ticket is in store, as an all-too-perfectly timed Jason busts through the doors, cursing and screaming about how "goddamn rude" the judges were and how Simon cut him off. You can't take his anger at all seriously, because he's sixteen and at any second he'll probably start crying and...here he goes. Through the whining and sobbing, you can make out, "I tried to fight back..." which is kind of Jason in a nutshell, because his audition for a talent show was just another high-school-drama "battle" he was all ready to fight. He gets really infantile and gets it entirely wrong when he says, "They said Minneapolis had no talent because of me." No, kid. They said you have no talent because you're from Minneapolis. So while he cries, his she-beast of a mother, who led him by the hand to the slaughter and allowed him to make a fool of himself on national TV, tells him that he's only sixteen. "Sixteen and I wanted to start out famous!" he brat-sobs. Mom feeds him some bullshit about "Of course you'll be famous," and Seacrest interjects, softly, that "maybe they have a point, that maybe singing's not what you should be doing." You guys? Ryan Seacrest just became a better parent than this kid's mom. I'm trying to get Al Gore on the phone to see what this might mean for our planet's future, but until I do, hold tight and hope for the best.
Then, in a particularly genius and probably-fake-but-who-cares transition, the camera pans left, away from Jason's Ringling Bros. circus of unchecked teenage emotion, and onto the deer-in-the-smoky-eyed-headlights mug of Brenna Kyner, who's up . She holds the pose long enough for Seacrest's VO to let us know that she's -- seriously, she knows the show so well that she can hear the post-production -- and then she darts into the audition room. She's of course Simon's worst enemy, with all her full-figured gothiness. She over-sells the "super-fan" gimmick, as she's been doing all day, going so far as to declare herself "BFF" with the show itself. She says her favorite contestant of all time was Ace Young (Randy: "Who's that?"), who she describes as: long hair, falsetto, wants to be my Father Figure. See, I'd have gone with: needy, empty, and...well, yeah, Father Figure. That shit ain't leaving my brain any time soon, I guess. Brenna says she even met Ace once, and he drew her a tattoo -- a simple outline of a heart on her left wrist (no scars! I checked!). Brenna's chosen to sing "Under Pressure," probably a top five "Love It But Overplayed" classic. She starts off with the "Why, why, whyyyyy?" part, because that's when she gets to start screeching, and screeching's what's gonna get her mug on TV. And now that she's been on TV for at least seven minutes or so, I kind of feel like her Idol journey is already complete, so what's left to talk about? She plays up this indignant act for a bit -- "I don't understand. Why didn't you tell me ten years ago that I wasn't good. I have a degree in vocal performance!" -- but it is just an act. Jewel continues to understand exactly what's going on at all times and points out that at least Brenna got to be on her favorite TV show. Outside, Brenna and Ryan are jokey-jokey about how they obviously just cut their Idol, so "pack it up, guys!" Congratulations, Brenna: you win!
Tonight's featured Montage O' Suck has everyone butchering "Kiss" even worse that poor Tashawn. This is all being filmed when they're getting pre-screened, I assume, which means Jason's there and dry-eyed. The Boring Cowboy is featured a lot, which is stupid. Trista's there, Chewbacca-ing up a storm. We see a handful of effeminate boys whose dressing-downs by Simon didn't make it onto the show proper, which meant Rosie had to make up something to be pissed off about on The View, so she did. Hilariously, Perla the fake Colombian is here, because even post-production can't believe she got through. Randy pretends like he and the other judges were even in the same room as these performances and laments that "Prince will never be on this show again." God willing, dude.
Time for one more wannabe: Josh Flom is about the whitest white kid in all of Minnesota, which I would wager is saying a lot. He's clean-cut and blond and kind of disheveled in that way people were back in, like, '94, as opposed to how they are now. He's all smiley when he talks about how his father's shower-singing talents were an inspiration to him, and Dad in turn talks about how he thought Josh was going to be a professional hockey goalie, but this is damn cool too. Josh says he thinks Chris Daughtry opened the door for "rockers" to succeed on this show, so he thinks he has a good shot. You know, when I envisioned all the Daughtry-esque "rockers" that were bound to flood this year's auditions, I honestly didn't think the first one would look quite so much like Matthew Shepard.
Inside, Josh lurches in, his slacker's posture utterly at odds with the rest of his existence as the World's Politest Rocker Guy. He sings Fuel's "Bad Day," which isn't even a good song to start with, even without getting into the Chris-clone aspects of it. When I describe Josh's voice as "growly corporate rock," it sounds as if I'm saying it's the same kind of voice that got Chris all the way to fourth place and the best-selling album of the Season 5 contestants. But as much as we may want to hate on Chris, his voice had depth, and power, and didn't always sound like you were taking a sheet of sandpaper to your trachea. Josh, not so much. Fuel cover band? Depends on the size of the bar, but sure. The judges all seem to really like Josh but have no reason to put him through. Randy tries (and mostly fails) to use his words to express that Josh sounded inauthentic, more like an imitation of a style rather than his own true voice. He fucks up and calls Josh "fake rock," which draws a strenuous, if ultimately polite, objection. Simon offers Josh a scenario: he makes the finals, and suddenly it's Week 7 and it's Abba Week (by the by, I think Simon was just being hypothetical about Abba, not that it wouldn't be awesome): what does Josh do? I'm not sure how entirely valid the question is -- sure, Simon got burned by Chris's refusal to hop genres last season, but Josh isn't ever going to make finals. At best, y'all are deciding whether to give him one more chance in Hollywood because he's a nice guy. And yet, as a cautionary tale if nothing else, he asks Josh to take fifteen minutes and come back with his rendition of an Abba song. "Abba?" Josh confirms, like he's saying that word for the first time ever (in Minnesota? I can't imagine). Josh is like, "Got it. Done. Be back in fifteen." He's got a head of steam and a positive attitude. What more does he need? ("...Other door.")
Even through the doors, the judges hear Josh yell, "I need an Abba song now?!" By the way, the Minnesota accent is wreaking havoc on the pronunciation of "Abba," which doesn't so much rhyme with "Jabba" as it does with "grab a." Josh polls his fellow auditioneers for any knowledge at all of Abba and what songs they may have sung. While this goes on, a pretty kicky little punk cover of "Dancing Queen" plays in the background. And, in what I find to be a pretty deflating development, that's the song Josh got someone to dictate to him. What I wouldn't have given for some "Voulez-Vous" up in that bitch. He's going a million miles an hour, making changes in highlighter because be doesn't have a pen, asking, like, the cameraman for advice. He's awesome. I love him. "I'm gonna be called the Dancing Queen for years," he tells us at home, "but it's worth it if I can go to Hollywood, so I don't care!" And now it's kind of sad, because he's thinking they wouldn't make him jump through all these hoops and then not put him through. And I still think they want to put him through on being a likeable kid alone, but...well, you'll see.
Josh's version of "Dancing Queen" is like if the wedding in Mama Mia! served shards of glass to its guests before asking them to sing along. It's admirable in its literalness, but it is exactly what the judges did not want to see when they were asking for variety. Simon's like, "So it's that voice, then? All the time?" Josh says he can also do Barry Manilow, and he growls out "Her name was Lola..." before the judges can't help but laugh. "Oh, I'm getting laughed at!" Josh despairs, in this tone that says, "I didn't think I was one of those auditions." Damn. The judges still really like him and don't want to make him feel bad. Jewel is like, "Can you sing without the gravel in your throat? Please? That's all these people want and they will send you to Hollywood!" She also expresses concern for his pipes, with the way he sings. He says he's been singing in his band "like, every day" for years. And that right there is the out that the judges needed: he's in a band. He should go back to being in his band. They're 100% correct, of course. Jewel asks if he writes his own songs (he does -- probably "I'm Sorry, After You" and "Do You Need Some Help, Ma'am?" and other such anthems of polite angst) and says that's definitely what he should do, because he's not right for this show. Simon says he's too one-dimensional, though he likes our Josh and says so. Josh makes one last impassioned plea, saying if he makes it to Hollywood, and works with the vocal coach they have there (kid did his homework), he'll do them proud. He says he loves his band, but this is "once in a lifetime." Simon says, "Yeah, I know," in the most sincere tone you will ever hear coming out of his mouth. Was that...was that empathy? I'll check...no, Al Gore's still not answering his phone. Randy and Jewel and Joe R all advise Josh to stick with his band. Paula -- completing her two-hour tour-de-bender -- manages to make her mouth say "pass." Simon says in a year's time Josh will thank them for not putting him through. Polite as ever, Josh nods sadly and thanks them. And he exits the correct door! All is not lost!
In a teary post-interview, Josh says he really thought Chris had opened some doors for the growly-voiced among us. His dad says "good job" and shakes his hand, but Josh can't really look anyone else in the eye right now or else he'll cry in front of real people and not just cameras and America. Inside, Simon says, "I liked him," and Paula looks like she might be crying, except there aren't any tears (alcohol dehydrates you, after all). Back in the interview, Josh says it's not like his voice is going to change any, so "maybe year" doesn't mean much. The music gets sad and he wipes away some tears and confesses, "It meant a lot." Oh THANKS, Idol. Make me sad on the first day. And not just the normal sad that's followed by "...for the future of the human race."
Il Divo Simon makes his flourishy exit as Seacrest thanks Jewel via voice-over. As do I, via my recap. Way to go, Jewel! You'll notice I never once mocked your [REDACTED]! Seventeen people made the trip from Minneapolis to Hollywood. And while a few of them were over-dramatic teenagers, none of them ever got addicted to gambling or arrested for vandalizing a medical research facility like a couple other Minnesota-to-California transplants I could mention. Rachel, Sarah, and Perla race out to the busy Minneapolis streets and raise their golden tickets above their heads: they're gonna make it after all! (Did it! Got the and Mary Tyler Moore references in there at the last possible second! My work here is done.)